Forgiveness
by cyher
Summary: Simon finally finds comfort after the incident with Paul Smith and his actions that followed.


"Tell me about the accident, Simon."

"There's nothing to tell."

"Simon..."

"Stanley! I've been coming here for six months! We've talked about the accident, there's nothing else to tell."

"Simon, in the six months that you've been here we've talked about everything but the accident and what's been going on with you."

"That's not true..."

"We've talked about your family and your girlfriends and your schoolwork, but we haven't talked about this. This is your last session, Simon. It's your last chance."

"I don't know what you want to hear!"

"I want to hear what happened."

Simon closed his eyes and drew a shuddered breath. It was hard to breathe, and he was cold. "I was driving to the promenade with Christine. The college station was playing some new rap song...she didn't like it. I wanted...I wanted her to be happy...so I changed the station."

"Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why did you want her to be happy?"

"What does it matter, is it so wrong to want people to be happy?"

"No, but I don't think that's the whole of it."

"You know, this is crazy, I'm just going to go."

"Don't do that Simon. Please, talk to me. Tell me about the accident and why you wanted Christine happy."

Simon pressed into his seat. The weight on his chest was over-bearing. He didn't want to talk about it, and had in fact been avoiding the subject during his entire run with the therapist. He was tired.

"I wanted Christine to like me. To like being with me. Because when people like people...when they like being together...things can happen."

"What things?" Simon's head was beginning to hurt.

"Things I shouldn't have been thinking about."

"Sex."

Simon looked down at the floorboard. His chin began to quiver as a single tear slid down his cheek. "When I was changing the station, Paul came out nowhere. Christine screamed and I looked up, but it was too late."

_Kid, are you all right? Can you hear me?_ The voices echoed through his brain. Memories of the night Paul had died. When he stood outside his car wrapped in a blanket as paramedics and police wandered the streets. They seemed distant, but just as real.

"I...I asked for forgiveness. Dad took me to the church and made me...but...I didn't deserve it. I didn't want it, but all you have to do is ask. You just have to ask and you're clean. So...I did things. Things that would take it back."

"You think God cares how much sex you have, Simon?"

"Doesn't he? Dad says..." Stanley gave a warm, reassuring smile.

"I think God's got enough worries on His plate." Stanley's smile faded. He didn't look angry. He looked somber but with a clear desire to help. "You really need forgiveness, though."

"I don't understand. You just said God doesn't care, and I already asked for the accident."

"Not from God, Simon. From yourself. You need to ask yourself for forgiveness for the accident, for what you've done since that you're ashamed of...everything."

"I'm sorry," he said, looking Stanley in the eye.

Stanley stood up and sadly shook his head. "Haven't you learned anything, Simon? I can help you. I _want_ to help you, but you have to help yourself first. I can't do everything for you. I won't." Stanley checked his watch and then looked down at the boy. He looked so young. Not a day older than when he had asked, repeatedly, for a dog.

He knelt next to the boy and gently took his hand. "Our time's up," he said softly, "and I have to go now. When you're ready to go home my assistant Peter will set things up. Good luck, Simon." Without another word, he was gone; leaving Simon alone in the darkness.

"Wait!" Simon yelled. Tears streamed down his face. His body ached and was soaking wet. Noise from the street streamed in through the window, but he barely heard it.

"I'm sorry!" he called out. I didn't mean for any of it, and I'm sorry! Please! Please...tell me its okay. I'm so...I'm so sorry."

_Paramedics and fire fighters worked for what seemed like hours to free the boy from his crumpled car. The window was broken, but he was pinned to his seat by a steering column that wouldn't budge. They gave it everything they had, but it just wasn't enough._

_His family would spend the following days in a fog. At every turn they questioned what had happened. Was it an accident? Was it suicide? Could they have tried harder or done anything differently? Could they have loved their son more? Following the funeral, his family and friends would reminisce about the good ol' days when the only problems were pajamas that didn't fit and the occasional cigarette._

_Rodney would remember something else, though. For the paramedic whose wavering faith had caused the highest of strains on everyone close to him, his one and only memory would be the boy's last words. They pulled him from the wreckage, and as they laid him on the gurney he grabbed Rodney's hand. He spoke, but Rodney couldn't make out the words through the rain and thunder. The boy pulled him closer, and with a genuine, comforting smile he looked off into the distance and spoke for the last time._

_"It's okay."_


End file.
